Precisely three minutes later, Calli’s phone buzzed in her hand. She swiped and said, “Dom?”
“Yes, beautiful. Good news. I have a table for you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, when you arrive, have Anton show you to the chef’s table.”
“Oh—” Calli’s stomach flopped. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to cook for me and my parents yet.” She lowered her voice. “My mother can be moody . . . judgmental. I’d really like to save introducing you as my boyfriend.”
“I wasn’t planning to cook for you unless you’re making a personal request.”
“Oh, heavens, no. I can’t do that to you yet.”
“I needed to call my second chef to make sure he was available. He’ll prepare your meal. I’ll drop in and say hi, but I’ll introduce myself as Nic, like I do to the rest of the patrons. Only you and I will know about us. I promise.”
“Smooth faced today?”
“Yes, but I’ll rock the stubble for you tomorrow night.”
“Mmm,” Calli said. “Can’t wait. Gotta run. Kisses.”
“Is that a promise?”
She grinned. “Yes.” Then clicked off the phone. She made one more call before returning to the kitchen. Once there, she said to her mom and dad, “We need to get dressed up. We have a reservation in an hour at Moretti’s, and the car will be here in forty-five minutes.”
Dom
Nic Moore studied the evening’s schedule and looked up as he felt a hand land on the back of his shoulder.
Moretti’s maggiordomo stood close and said, “Mr. Moore, your table is seated and they are enjoying their first course.”
“Very well, Anton. Thank you.”
Anton turned to attend to the next couple, and Nic finished reviewing the evening before he walked the dining floor one more time. As he went, he smiled and asked one couple how their meal was, asked the next family if he could get them anything, asked how a third’s evening had been so far, and so on and so forth until he had made his way to the kitchen doors at the far end. Nic pushed into the hustling and bustling kitchen and noted that his chefs and sous chefs had everything under control—a well-olive-oiled culinary machine. His chest swelled on a sigh as he passed the sinks, the long stainless islands, the roasting hearth, and the bank of refrigerators. Through the door and down the hall he walked to the second, private chef’s kitchen and dining room where Calli and her parents dined. Before pushing through that door, he stroked his smooth chin and slicked back hair. Nothing rough or out of place for Nic Moore—unlike his full-time, more famous and more rugged persona, Dominic Moretti.
He cracked the door just enough to see the guests at his chef’s table. His radiant, most beautiful orchid, Calli, laughed at some story her father, a lanky man with a hooked nose and salt-and-pepper-colored hair, was telling. He really couldn’t believe how hard he’d fallen for the woman. On her other side sat a woman who was an older version of Calli’s perfection, hair a gorgeous shade of silver hanging heavy to her shoulders. Many years of smiles and happiness pinched at the skin around her eyes, but her heart-shaped face was every bit the source of Calli’s. He wanted to pull up a chair and join them, but he’d give her the space she’d requested and let her do that on her own time. Meanwhile, Nic Moore pushed into the room, smiling professionally. He crossed to tableside, lifted the bottle of wine from the wine bucket, and refilled glasses.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Lindley, and Miss Lindley,” he said as he poured. “I’m the manager this evening at Moretti’s, Nic. How are you finding the first bites of your meal?” He turned to Calli and her milk-chocolate eyes sparkled up at him.
“Good evening, Nic,” said Mrs. Lindley. “The rosemary shrimp crostini are delightful.”
“Those are one of my favorites as well.”
“Please, do call me Isabelle, Nic.”
“Yes, ma’am, Isabelle.”
She glowed almost as much as her daughter.
Nic turned to the quiet Mr. Lindley. “Is there anything I can get for you, sir?”
“Nic, this is just fabulous. I can’t think of anything that your chef here, Marco, hasn’t already considered.”
Marco approached with a platter—an assortment of thinly sliced melon layered with prosciutto, and for the garnish, mozzarella balls and three varieties of orchid. Nic appraised the tray, then exchanged a look with Calli. She smiled widely, knowingly. A pink blush danced across her cheeks as she lowered her gaze. He’d done well.
Placing a hand on Mr. Lindley’s shoulder, Nic said, “Well, do enjoy your meal. You’re in good hands with Marco here.” He walked over to inspect the private kitchen adjacent to the chef’s table. Seeing that it was indeed immaculate, he answered a few of Marco’s whispered questions and retreated from the room.
Outside and already to the end of the hall, he’d just placed a hand on the door to the larger kitchen when he heard whispered behind him, “Dom?” Calli rushed to him, grinning.
When they met, she pressed her body into his and leaned up toward his face. He backed her up against the wall and kissed her long and languorously.
“Thank you so much for this,” she said.
“This is my pleasure. Especially when the repayment is so delicious.” He kissed her again.
“Would you like to have lunch with my parents on Sunday before they return to Lindleyi Manor? As Dom . . . my, um, boyfriend?”
His heart double-timed. “Only if you’re sure you’re ready,” he said, stroking her chin with a thumb as he searched for answers in her eyes.
“I can barely stand being in there, knowing you’re out here working.” She stepped back, grasping his hands and looking down to where they were joined. “I’m sure if you are.”
Dom lifted her chin. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’d love to.” He kissed her wine-sweetened lips lightly and added, “My beautiful orchid.”
Chapter 31
Calli
The cast of Cinderella sang the final lines of “There’s music in you,” the words perfectly fitting Calli’s mood and thoughts after the romantic play. Moving mountains and lighting her section of the sky, Dom had made all her wishes come true as well. During the final notes, Calli wiped away a happy tear. The music died down, and the applause erupted in the Orpheum. As the “Cinderella March” started and the cast scurried to center stage to take their bows, the audience came to their feet. Calli and Dom joined in the ovation, smiling at one another as they clapped. Dom put an arm around Calli and kissed her lightly. Romantic indeed—she didn’t care if it was a story saying how a woman needed a prince to rescue her. That was simply true sometimes. Princes took all forms, and Dom had become hers.
In the balcony’s front row and center, she turned into his arm, wrapping her own arms around his waist and resting her chin on his chest. “Can I say something way girly?”
Dom chuckled. “Of course.”
She giggled too. “No, never mind.”
“Hey, don’t hide.” He looked up, then back at her. “Fine, at the risk of losing my guy card, I’ll go first . . . That wedding scene was more touching than the romance number in the last third of Tangled.”